Half Life
by Megan13
Summary: AU Clato - Series of One-Shots, continuation of All the Right Moves. Cato & Clove quickly realize the life of a Victor isn't all it's cracked up to be. Assassinations, bogus love affairs, and betrayal... Just another day in the life of a double agent.


**Title:** Half Life  
**Chapter: **Part 1, A **Characters/Pairings:** Cato/Clove, Clove/OMC  
**Spoilers/Warning:** PG13  
**Summary:** AU Clato - As members of the Rebellion, Cato wins the 70th Games and Clove wins the 72nd Games. Continuation of _All the Right Moves_.  
**Disclaimer:** Not authorized, prepared, approved, licensed, or endorsed by Suzanne Collins, Lions Gate, or any other individual or entity associated with the Hunger Games books or films. All Hunger Games logos, trademarks, names, characters, and related indicia are the property of Lions Gate, Suzanne Collins, and/or their respective owners. I do not claim any affiliation with those who own Hunger Games and would like to make it clear that no copyright infringement is intended in the publication of this story.

**UPDATE 9/27/13 - Authors Note: Series of Oneshots in my ATRM's universe. Cato won the 70th Games and Clove won the 72nd Games - now they are part of the Rebellion. Oneshots will NOT go in order.**

**Year 74, Victory Tour**:

The sun is just beginning to peak over tip-tops of the mountains when Cato finally finds himself hobbling through his back gate. He's been on the road for the past three days and, though he typically doesn't think of his too-big house in the Victor's Village as _home_, just the sight of the place is enough to ease his anxiety. In fact, all he can think of as he steps up to his back door is how good it's going to feel to curl up under the fresh, clean sheets he put on his bed the morning before he left.

Of course, he'll have to wash off all the blood first. And after three days without bathing or even a change of clothes, a hot shower is definitely his top priority.

He begins fumbling through his vest pocket for his keys, the promise of a shower and sleep hastening his movements despite two broken fingers and swollen knuckles, when he suddenly realizes the door is already unlocked. He's positive he locked it before setting out on Wednesday night and so, with an annoyed "fuck", Cato readies himself for yet another fight and pushes into the house – only to find Clove sitting on his counter, munching on a bowl of _his_ cereal.

Cato sighs irritably. It's been six weeks since he's seen the love of his life and her sudden appearance in his kitchen undoubtedly means emotional turmoil is on the horizon. He'll be more prepared for all of… _that_ tomorrow, but not tonight. No, tonight he needs a hot shower to soothe his aching muscles and a good eight hours of solid sleep in order to function properly.

He knows there are no video cameras in the house, but the possibility of listening devices is too great to ignore so he keeps his mouth shut as he drops his gear onto the floor and then limps across the kitchen and plucks the bowl out of her hands. Cato may be exhausted and in pain, but that doesn't mean he's not amused by the way Clove glares at him while he eats the remainder of the cereal right in front of her.

Once he's drained the milk and dumped the bowl in the sink, he hobbles off to his bedroom. The stairs are a bit tricky to traverse, what with the knife wound on his thigh refusing to keep closed, but he somehow makes it to his bedroom in one relatively intact piece and, while Clove disappears into the adjoining bathroom to turn on the shower, he manages to peel off his filthy, battered clothes. He throws the soiled clothing into the corner, fully intending to trash the whole getup when he wakes up, and slips into the bathroom.

Clove, still in her undies, is already under the spray and, having left the door open for him, reaches out her arm to help Cato over the lip of the shower. She quickly moves out of the way so he can stand under the water and begins lathering up a washcloth with soap. He doesn't say anything as she washes him, opting instead to watch as the blood and grime and soap circle the drain.

When he's clean and dry, Clove helps him to his bed and flashes him a look that clearly says 'move a muscle and I'll hurt you' before heading back into the bathroom in search of medical supplies. They've both had their fair share of contusions and broken bones over the years so it doesn't take long for her to splint his fingers, patch up his knuckles, and treat his thigh wound. He'll deal with the minor cuts and bruises tomorrow.

It's a little after 7AM by the time they finally settle into bed – Cato on his back with Clove pressing against his side, her cheek resting on his chest – and, though her initial appearance in his house grated on his nerves and he's so tired he's not really capable of thinking rationally, Cato's so happy to have Clove back in his arms that he almost doesn't even want to fall asleep. But despite his attempts at savoring the moment, he's dead to the world within seconds of closing his eyes.

* * *

Cato sleeps soundly for a solid twelve hours. Once upon a time a good night's sleep simply wasn't in the cards for him. He had night terrors - the gruesome, horrifying kind he tried to shut out by avoiding sleep completely. For days at a time Cato would stumble around his freshly painted house in the Victor's Village trying desperately to keep the nightmares at bay and then, when his body just couldn't handle it anymore, he'd collapse only to awake hours later to the sounds of his own screams echoing in his ears. The night he dreamed of Fabian, his best friend and dead Tribute, being ripped to shreds over and over again was the night he decided to put an end to the debilitating dreams once and for all and with one quick trip to his Capitol physician he managed to do just that.

He didn't take his sleeping pills last night though, and so it must have been Clove wrapped around him (and possibly complete and utter exhaustion) that kept him comfortably asleep so long this time. When his eyes finally do flutter open his room is already shrouded in darkness and, if the mouth-watering aroma coming from downstairs is any indication, it's also dinner time. He hasn't eaten much more than a handful of protein bars and half of a bowl of cereal over the past few days so it's no wonder his stomach begins rumbling almost instantly.

Wincing, Cato gingerly swings his legs over the edge of the bed and climbs to his feet. He rushes through his usual morning activities – well, as much as his injured thigh will allow him – and hobbles down the stairs to find his father, Magnus, sitting at the head of his kitchen table watching contentedly as Clove places a steaming bowl in front of him.

"Smells good," Cato says with a grin, successfully stealing their attention from the food on the table. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the table and his grin widens. "Elk stew?"

"Your favorite," Clove murmurs under her breath as she takes a seat to the right of his dad.

"My favorite," Cato reiterates and pushes off the wall to limp towards his dinner. His father frowns at the way his left leg drags but swallows his concern when Cato shakes his head and drops into his seat without too much difficulty. "Where'd you get the elk?"

"I bought it," Magnus tells him and shoots the younger people a knowing look. There are only a few hunters in D-2 permitted to hunt large game, but the Mayor _never_ buys what they bring to market. He prefers to have the Hudson boy, a rather skilled poacher for only fifteen, drop his fresh kills in the tool shed behind the most stately house in the whole district. He pays the boy twice as much as the meat in the market and subsequently keeps the whole Hudson family properly fed and clothed for a good four to six months. "Found myself a big 'ol bull and bought the whole damn thing. I didn't think you'd mind if I stashed half of it in that freezer out back."

"Don't mind at all," Cato chuckles, reaching for the plate of bread next to Clove. His fingertips just barely grasp the edge of the plate and when he tries to lift it a sudden jolt of pain surges through his fingers and into his wrist, causing him to jerk back. The plate falls to the table with a clatter and Cato growls in frustration.

"What happened?" Magnus asks, glancing at a concerned Clove and then back at his son.

"I fell while I was camping," Cato says smoothly. It's not a complete lie, he _did_ sleep in a tent for three nights and he _did_ fall, but it's not really the truth either. Not that he really needs to lie for their benefit. Clove and Magnus both know what he does. In fact, his father was the one who sent him on his latest assignment. "There was a mountain lion. It didn't go down without a fight."

He can tell they want more details, but it isn't safe in the house.

"But you got him in the end, right?" Magnus raises an eyebrow.

"Yes sir." Cato nods. "Took longer than usual, and he got in a few good scratches," he gestures to his injured leg, "but I managed to break his neck."

Magnus smiles, though it doesn't really reach his eyes. "I always liked mountain lions."

"Me too," Cato says, his gaze flickering to Clove. She's staring at him curiously, trying to figure out exactly what conversation he and his father _aren't_ having, and he knows she won't be happy when she finds out which _mountain lion_ he deposed.

"I'm sure you took care of the carcass like I taught you? Didn't just leave it out for the rest of the animals to pick at?"

"Of course," Cato nods again. "I did was I was trained to do."

"Good." Magnus lets the subject drop and turns his attention to the bowl of stew on the table in front of him. He takes a bite before looking up at Clove, then Cato, and mutters meaningfully, "Better tuck in while it's still hot."

* * *

They finish dinner in silence. Magnus helps Clove clear the table and then bids them a goodnight with a kiss on top of their heads. After he's gone, Clove returns to the kitchen to clean up and Cato watches her, smiling softly at the domesticity of it all, while lounging on the couch in the living room. When the last plate is in its place Clove wipes her wet hands off on her wet jeans and joins Cato in the living room. They sit in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's presence, before Clove's curiosity finally gets the best of her. She nods at the back door and then helps Cato to his feet.

"Thank you," Cato mutters once they're a safe distance from the house, "for taking care of me last night."

"This morning," Clove corrects with a smile as they amble slowly down the winding path through the forest. It's dark out and the trail is difficult to follow, but they've navigated it enough times to know where every dip and turn is. "You were out of salve," she gestures at his leg, "or else I'd have been able to do a much better job. But Onyx and Astoria will be here in the morning anyway."

Cato grins at the mention on their Stylists. As the most recent District Two Victors, Cato and Clove are still under the jurisdiction of D-2's Head Stylists. As such, Astoria has been with Cato for the past four years and has become a sort-of-mother to him. Honestly, he's not sure he would be alive if not for her constant support and guidance. Without her help navigating the Capitol's social scene he would have been utterly lost and definitely wouldn't have been able to accomplish the goals and objectives he's set for himself and for the Rebellion. She helps him shine, but she also patches him up when he's at his worst - which is exactly what she'll be doing in the morning. Cringing, Cato thinks about the plethora of battle scars he's earned in the last six weeks alone. He's in for a full Body Buff, unfortunately, and he knows it.

"Are the rest of the circus monkeys coming with them?" Cato asks. Astoria and Onyx are great, but their teams can be a bit grating when they want to be.

"Mmhmm," Clove murmurs as she helps Cato over a jutting tree root. "Coriolanus wants us to look our best."

Cato flinches. He hates it when she calls Snow by his first name - hates that she's familiar enough with him to be _allowed_ to call him by his first name – and the way she says it, so nonchalantly, makes it all the worse and always, _always_, put him on edge.

_It's not real_, he has to tell himself. _It's all an act, nothing more._

Cato takes a deep breath and silently repeats that mantra a few times in an attempt to keep his fear and frustration away. It doesn't work. "And how is Vaughn these days?" He sneers at Clove. "I'm surprised he allowed you to come home early. Keeps you on a pretty short leash usually, doesn't he?"

Clove glares up at him, but doesn't take the bait. Vaughn Snow is a point of contention they've argued over time and again and she's tired of the unnecessary jealousy. It's not like she _wants_ to be the girlfriend of Public Enemy Number Two (at least, not most of the time), but it's the assignment she was tasked with and she'll be damned if she fails the Rebellion just because Cato has a hard time separating fact from fiction.

"Vaughn is fine," she finally grinds out and kicks a rock out of her path in irritation. "Same as always; smart, handsome and _evil_."

Cato winces at the harshness of her tone and instantly regrets trying to pick a fight with her. It's not an argument he wants to have, _again_, and wasting what little time they have together is the last thing he wants to do. It's just that she doesn't say Vaughn's name with as much venom as she used to and she seems to genuinely enjoy the man's presence now and, well, _Cato has eyes_ – he can see the way they gaze at each other when she thinks no one is looking.

"Clove, I'm sor-"

"Don't," Clove interrupts firmly and picks up her pace until Cato is no longer able to keep up with her.

He stops and watches her as she disappears into the darkness. Sighing, Cato clicks his tongue in frustration before limping the rest of the way along the path. When he finally rounds the bend leading to their destination he finds Clove sitting on a fallen tree, her knees pulled to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She looks up when he steps in front of her and smiles sadly as he tucks the strands of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.

"He's been in a lot of meetings lately," Clove says after a moment of silence. "He leaves early in the morning and doesn't come home some nights until well after midnight. I don't know exactly what they're plotting, but I know it's all riding on this Victory Tour and how well the Everdeen girl can keep the districts from revolting."

"She's done a pretty shit job of that," Cato snorts mirthlessly and takes a seat next to Clove. "Eleven's all but rioting in the streets at this point."

Clove nods solemnly. "That night, Vaughn came home really upset. He told me he wouldn't let anything happen to me, that he would take care of me and not to worry. He was _distraught_, Cato." She licks her lips nervously. "I think Coriolanus wants to punish Everdeen for fanning the flames, for becoming a symbol of hope to the people. And I think we're going to be punished right alongside her."

Cato frowns, contemplating her words. He's not sure what she thinks their punishment may be (he refuses to consider the words _Quarter _and_ Quell_) but at least he can say he's confident in one thing - if Vaughn says he'll keep Clove safe, then he'll keep Clove safe and that's good enough for him.

On the other hand, Vaughn would gladly throw Cato to a pack of rabid Mutts. Whatever it is they're planning, Cato knows he'll somehow wind up right in the thick of it. _I always do_, he thinks with a huff.

"Hey," Cato says after a few moments of tense silence. He reaches out to wrap his arm around Clove's shoulders and smiles when she leans into his embrace. "There's no use worrying about it now. Whatever happens, we can handle it. Okay?"

After a beat, he can feel Clove nod into his shoulder. "So," she asks, "who was it this time?"

"Whitt," Cato tells her after a slight hesitation.

"Whitt Frost?" Clove looks up at him sharply, confused. "But he's a Rebel."

"He was playing both sides-"

"No shit," Clove interrupts sarcastically and pulls away from Cato. "He's a double agent!"

"_Was_ a double agent," Cato corrects before he can stop himself.

"Wow," Clove deadpans. "And they call me an insensitive bitch."

Cato narrows his eyebrows dramatically. "Are you saying I'm a bitch?"

Clove only rolls her eyes.

"Okay, _yes_, he was a double agent," Cato finally concedes. Whitt Frost may have been an arrogant little prick when he wanted to be, but he grew up across the street from Clove and had been _involved_ with her brother Mace since The Academy, so he feels he owes her some sort of explanation (however vague it is) as to why the man wasn't simply relocated. "He did a lot of good work for us, but he was also extremely careless and made a lot of mistakes; mistakes that wound up getting people killed."

"I still don't understand why he had to be terminated," Clove sighs.

"He was greedy – had his hands in too many pockets. Look, you know I'm not the judge or the jury. I'm just the executioner." Cato shrugs. "I got the page from Coors and was preparing for relocation when my father's note came in twenty minutes later. I don't know exactly what he did but it had to have been _bad_ if both sides wanted him dead."

Clove is silent for a moment or two as she tries to process the information she's just been given. War changes people, she knows that, and this won't be the first time she has to separate her personal feelings about someone from her professional ones. Whitt did change when he was promoted to Peacekeeper: First Lieutenant and she's not as surprised as she thinks she should be at his demise. Although, Mace will be utterly heartbroken.

"Looks like he didn't go down without a fight," Clove says, nodding at his leg.

"That stupid shithead was tipped," Cato answers, holding up his hand to remind her of his broken fingers. "He knew I was coming so he rigged his house. Asshole stabbed me and slammed my fingers in a door and he _bit_ me. What kind of asshole bites someone?"

"Don't speak ill of the dead."

"Why not?" Cato quirks an eyebrow. "You always do."

Again, Clove only rolls her eyes.

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